A Small, Small World
by Rush Limborg
Summary: Set in the "I Do, I Do" universe. Sam and Diane have their honeymoon-but it isn't all magical and passionate romance, as a time from Diane's past soon comes back to haunt her. A heavy "T" (it IS their honeymoon)-but nothing "M-ish". Now complete, at long last! Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Never let it be said that I don't take the requests of my readers seriously! I should admit, though, that for a time I wasn't sure what on Earth I would write, about Sam and Diane at WDW (where, remember, they'd agreed in "Norm's First Hurrah" they'd spend their honeymoon). I actually briefly considered having them change their minds and go to Europe, or something. Still, the appeal of the title grabbed ahold of me, and wouldn't let go—and meanwhile, something clicked. And so, dear readers…the story we've all been waiting for, for a long time. I certainly hope it was worth it—for all of us. (I apologize, if I got some of the details wrong, a la "that wasn't around back then". I wasn't around then, either—it's all research.)**

**Side note—I chose the Contemporary as, researching the history of Disney World, there were only a few "resorts" on the property in 1987. Somehow, I'd doubt Diane would care for a Polynesian or rustic or golf theme—which were the alternatives. The irony is…****_one_****_year_**** later, Disney would open the Grand Floridian—which, I think we'd all agree, would appeal to our beloved heroine a LOT more. Ah, well—****_c'est la vie_****, Diane….**

* * *

Some things never change.

"Yeah," Sam Malone nodded, holding the phone as he sat at his desk, "Yeah, uh, hold on a minute—hey," he turned to his wife, "Do we want the castle or the bay?"

Diane Chambers—now Diane Chambers _Malone_, proudly and happily!—frowned for a moment, as she sat on the edge of the desk. "Come again?"

"The view—you know, from our room…?"

"Oh—right!" Diane nodded. "Well—the bay, naturally."

Sam began to nod—but stopped. He turned back to her again, frowning, "What—come on, what's wrong with the other side? I'd like to see the castle—"

"_Sam_," Diane made a show of a slump, as she gave him a pointed look, "I would _prefer_, for a honeymoon, we have a _view_ that stands as a monument to its romantic nature. Now—"

"Well, yeah!—I get that. But…what's wrong with the castle? That's pretty romantic, don't you think—?"

"Sam, _please_," Diane held up a hand, "I don't want this to be a—bigger _deal_ than it must be. I only think that, if _you_ are going to choose the locale for our honeymoon, I would prefer to have at least _some_ say in the particulars?"

"Fine!—okay, whatever," Sam sighed, shaking his head, and spoke into the phone, "Yeah, make it a bay view."

After a moment, he added, "Yeah, everything's fine. Why?"

Diane chuckled, shaking her head. _Were we _that_ apparent?_

After a moment longer, Sam smirked, and nodded. "Well that's great to know—thanks! Yeah, how soon can we get over there?" Another moment, and then: "Oh, come on—can't you do better than _that_?"

"How long, Sam?"

"Wait…hey, I thought the whole point of 'last-minute' was, ah…last-minute, you know?" Sam chuckled nervously—and frowned, nodded. "Right, yeah, well…" he shrugged, "Geez, I—"

Diane leaned to him, "How _long_?" she near-whispered.

Sam covered the receiver, and replied, "A week—apparently, that's the best they can do."

Diane shrugged, "Well?"

"Come on, sweetheart!—we're already _packed_—"

"Sam," Diane grinned, "Take it."

Sam shook his head, "You know, this is stupid—the most I've ever had to wait for a room is—"

"_Sam_," Diane chuckled, "I seem to recall it was _you_ who suggested the locale of our—post-matrimonial getaway—"

"Oh, so now I gotta _suffer_ for it?"

"Apparently."

"Fine…." Sam sighed, and spoke into the receiver, "Yeah, you know, that'll be great…. Uh-huh. Yeah, sure—hey listen, thanks a lot for this. Oh, okay—you too, huh? Yeah…."

He hung up, and threw his hands up. "_Well_, that wasn't so hard, was it?!"

Diane laughed as she slid off the desk onto her feet, and kissed Sam on the cheek. "Well the important thing is—at last, we'll be off."

"Yeah, in a _week_."

"Sam, what does it matter? This is a time of which we dreamt for so long, and at last we shall witness it come to fruition—"

"Diane, my headache's bad enough as it is, okay?"

Diane straightened up, and smiled warmly at him, waiting.

Sam rose to his feet, spread out his hands…and smiled, "Hey, how did we get into this, anyway?—_don't_," he added as Diane opened her mouth, "On second thought…I don't want to know."

Diane chuckled, and took a step to him, "Well, then, perhaps we'd better make the most of our week, in the meantime…?"

Sam shrugged, and took her in his arms. "What, time flies, and all that?"

"Oh, call it that, I suppose."

Sam's arms encircled Diane's waist, hands clasped together behind her, and chuckled, "Well, you know what's funny?"

Diane tilted her head, head looking up at him, "Aside from the cologne with which you _insist_ on adorning yourself…?"

Sam snorted, and went on, "Well, that guy asked if it'd be one bed or two, and he was serious."

Diane blinked, and laughed. "Perhaps he needs a woman, himself."

"Yeah, well," Sam muttered, as his hands caressed her, "that's supposed to be their thing, right?—dreams coming true? You'd think that would go for _them_, too—"

"Oh, _Sam_…."

And no more words were needed, as their lips met in the middle of their laughter—the perfect toast to their future, together.

* * *

**Note: Only Chapter 1, folks! Stay tuned...**


	2. Chapter 2

The door slammed open at the force of the two of them against one another, lips locked together—Sam holding Diane up in his arms as they entered, kicking the door shut behind him as he carried her down the mini-hall, into the main room. He sat down on the bed as they broke their kiss, smiling at each other.

"I think you can put me down, now," Diane chuckled.

Sam shrugged—and Diane let out a yelp as he playfully tossed her onto the mattress beside him. After a beat, Diane burst out in laughter, lying on her back, and spread out her arms as she let out a sigh. She was in a white summer dress, for the first actual day of the honeymoon—short-cut, loose but still quite form-fitting. Sam loved sitting there, right then, staring at her as she lay there resting, relaxed and peaceful and joyfully content. Her eyes sparkled, and she smiled with the glow that always brought her beauty to its fullest.

She looked around, and shrugged a little, "Not particularly lavish, is it?"

Sam frowned, looking around a bit himself, "Well, geez, what do you _want_?"

Diane chuckled, sitting up, "Oh, it's not _that_, Sam—I'm only observing the…particular _style_ with which this room's designed. Quite Modernistic, don't you think?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno."

"Of course not."

"_Diane_…"

Diane chuckled again, and kissed him on the cheek. "Let's look outside."

Not _exactly_ what he wanted to do, right then and there…but Sam sighed, shook his head, and followed her to the balcony.

The room was near the top of the "tower"—and the view was all the better for it, looking out over the Bay. Solid blue…and there was Discovery Island, in the middle of the giant lake. Sam still would've preferred the castle view…but this wasn't that bad. Not bad at all.

Diane took a deep breath, and let it out with a sigh. "What a sight."

"Boy you said it. Now, what do you say we break in the place—?"

"Oh, _Sam_! Can't we just…live in this moment?—_enjoy_ our first stand in this balcony, looking out…savoring the sight we now behold…."

Sam chuckled, "Fine…whatever you say."

Diane turned to him, tilting her head. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. How about you?"

Diane's smile grew. "Frankly, Sam, I'm absolutely wonderful."

Sam returned the smile, as he put his arm around her. "You sure are."

Diane chuckled, and moved in closer to him. "All right…I suppose the time's right."

"Huh?"

Diane grinned. "Do as you will, Mr. Malone."

"Oh, you _bet_—" Sam chuckled, and picked her up again, Diane letting out a squeal of delight.

As Sam carried her back inside, Diane frowned for a moment, "Oh—Sam? Don't—don't you think we should close the…"

"Hey, come on—you smell the bay in the air? How's _that_ for helping me out, huh?"

_"Sam_…" Diane shook her head, with a smirk.

Sam whipped the covers to the side with his (relatively) free hand, and lay her down. And _that_ was when she bolted up and said, "Wait—_wait_, Sam—!"

"_What_?!" Sam threw his arms out. "GAH, you know something—I…sweetheart, _what are we waiting for_?!"

"_Sam_…" Diane held up her hand. After a moment of silence, she gave him a slight, embarrassed smile, as she replied, "The luggage is still outside."

Sam froze…and felt like smacking himself on the head. He didn't do it, of course, but he felt like it.

"Right…" he muttered, shrugged. "Sorry, I…"

"No—no, Sam, _I'm_ sorry. I believe we were both caught up in the passions of the moment, and…"

"Yeah, keep talking about passions—I'll need it. Listen, I'll go get 'em."

"Oh—Sam, I think I should help…"

"No, no, we'll put it all away later—I just want them in!"

"Oh, _Sam_…" Diane rolled her eyes.

"Hey, c'mon—sooner the better, huh?"

"I _suppose_…which is why I should—"

Sam pointed to her with a smirk. "No…you just lie back down. Stay _right_ there, I'll be done in a minute."

Diane chuckled, and did so, looking so inviting and tempting he could barely stand it. But he managed to turn, the image lodged in his mind—and rushed to the door, opening, grabbing as much of the luggage as he could (Diane brought more than one case—surprise, surprise…), and bringing it in, setting it down by the day bed.

With the second load, Diane (not moving) said "Oh—Sam? Be careful of that case. It's my typewriter."

Sam froze, holding it. She hadn't told him about this…but it was probably because he didn't ask. "You brought a _typewriter_?—what for?"

Not moving from her position, Diane shrugged. "Well, you wanted me to finish my book—I supposed I might as well bring it along, in case I have the time."

Sam stared at her in silence. _Yeah_…_she_ would_ do that_….

Diane lifted her head, looking at him. "Well…on the round table, then?"

Sam shrugged, "Whatever…but you know something, I doubt you'll be bored enough for it."

"Sam, it isn't an issue of boredom."

Sam chuckled as he set the case on the table, and turned back to her. "And it sure won't be, if _I_ got something to say about it."

Diane laughed, as Sam walked over and joined her. And _this_ time, there were no interruptions.


	3. Chapter 3

The Italy Pavilion at the Epcot center is one of many areas in the park dedicated to a specific culture. This one boasts designs invoking Venice, Florence, and Rome. Diane, of course, had been to the real cities—and nothing could compare, of course. It was a nice tribute, nonetheless…if a bit small for her tastes.

She sat at the ledge of the Neptune fountain, waiting for Sam to finish attending the nearest men's room. When he came back, they'd go straight to eat. It was Diane's idea to come to this area for it: the atmosphere of Italy held some wonderful memories—her near-wedding to poor Frasier notwithstanding. _L'Originale Alfredo di Roma Ristorante_…a cute sort of name for it, but…it held promise of delicacies, within.

Diane looked at the stature in the fountain—the Roman god, with two fish accompanying him, one on each side…water flowing from their mouths, into the basin. She always liked the sound of this sort of fountain…the soothing trickling, rippling down, down….

"Lovely, isn't it?" said a man standing nearby.

Diane turned to him, with a smile. "Yes, it is, isn't it?"

The man was tall and athletic, with dark hair and a Mediterranean tan. There was something clearly Italian in his voice, as he went on, "I've seen the original, you know—well…what it's based upon. The Trevi Fountain, in Rome."

Diane nodded, her smile growing. "I've seen it, too."

"You have? You know Rome, then?"

"Yes, I visited there a few years ago." Diane looked off, hands in her lap, and sighed, "Ah, I remember how…wonderful it was—touring the city, and all the many things it had to offer. Have you ever been to St. Peter's?"

The man nodded, as he took his own seat on the ledge. "A few times. Are you Catholic, yourself?"

"Oh, my father was."

"I see! And you visited with him?"

"Oh—oh, no! He…" Diane sighed, "He's…been gone, for many years."

"Ah…" The man nodded. "I'm sorry to hear it. Well, a good tribute, nonetheless."

"I suppose so…." Diane returned the nod…and then, she noticed his taking her in, observing her. Not that she wasn't pleased at the thought—she was!—but…

"Before you develop the wrong idea," she chuckled, "I'm on my honeymoon." She smiled down at her hand, gently brushing the rings on her finger.

"Oh!" the man chuckled, "Forgive me…."

"Oh, no, it's all right…" Diane smiled at him, "I _am_ flattered. But I'm also deeply in love."

The man nodded, returning the smile. "Well, I would say I'm sorry to hear it, but what would that say about me?"

Diane shrugged.

The man looked off for a moment. Diane looked at him…feeling her smile fade a little. She wasn't sure what it was about him, but…

The eyes. Suddenly, it seemed as though a sadness arose in them…something nostalgic, wistful.

Diane bushed the side of her hair, as she asked, "Well, um…so, do you live in Italy?"

"I do," he smiled at her, "I'm actually here on a sort of vacation, myself."

"Well, then!—how do you like America, thus far?"

He shrugged, "So far, I've only seen the resort. Still, I find it pretty nice. A little bustling for an Italian-born man, but…fine, nonetheless."

The slight hint of nostalgia now reached his voice. And now, he seemed a little distant…as though haunted by a memory of another time and place. And…what was it _about_ him?

Diane nudged those thoughts away, and asked, "Well, um…you're on vacation?"

The man chuckled, "Well, I'd imagine that's the reason most people come here."

"Oh, of _course_…."

The man nodded, and shrugged, "Well, I play on the football field, for a living. You call it 'soccer', here, but—"

"I _knew_ it!" Diane snapped her fingers. "The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were an athlete—and a runner!"

The man nodded again, with a smile. "Yes, well, I've served as team captain for a while. I love the sport. Still, I suppose there are times when a break from it all is just what I need."

Diane smiled and nodded. But the smile was mostly external…as for whatever reason, the sense of familiarity about this man solidified, and grew a little.

_Have I met this man, before? In Rome, or…where-have-you, in Italy?_

Well, it wouldn't hurt to ask…or would it?

"I don't suppose I've seen you on the field?" she asked.

He shrugged. "You might have. I take it you attended a few games, when you visited?"

"A few—not too many. I personally don't care too much for sports arenas. Too…loud, and…"

"Ah, I understand. And dirty, aren't they?"

"At times."

"Yes…I remember one idiot who got it into his head to strip down to nothing but his socks and sneakers and _jump_ onto the field—"

Diane's hand shot up, as she squirmed, "I'd…rather not hear the details, Mr., um…?

"Oh, that's right—I'm sorry…my name's Antonio Vespucci. Everyone calls me 'Tony'."

Diane felt herself stiffen inside, though she thankfully managed to keep her smile. It wasn't much—just an inkling of something _like_ a memory. But still…

"And—you?"

Diane cleared her throat. "Oh, well…Diane Malone."

_There. It's safe enough—you used your new last name…and it's not as though "Diane" isn't a common enough name._

The man blinked, and smiled, "Your name's Diane?"

_Oh, no._ "Um…yes?"

The man looked off, and shrugged, "Oh, it's nothing. Only a coincidence, but…that's—well, that's the name of a woman I knew…once. Diane…"

The sadness in his eyes—the wistfulness. And it was painfully clear, the reason for the slight feeling of distance about him…the sense of loneliness….

Diane swallowed, and peered off, looking desperately—

There he was—thank heaven.

Diane turned to the man, with a nervous smile, "I—I'm sorry, Tony, but…my husband and I are going to lunch, and…well, it was pleasant talking to you."

"Oh, I understand. Thank you." After a moment's pause, he added, "If…you'd care to talk again—I love coming here, to this fountain. Chances are, I'll be back here every other midday, for the month."

"The month! You'll be here _that_ long?"

He chuckled. "I've been saving time for this, to be honest."

"Well…perhaps another time, then."

Tony nodded, and turned to stare at the statue.

Diane headed right to Sam, silently giving thanks that that had been all—just a feeling of déjà vu on the other man's part…if that.

She smiled as she reunited with Sam, "I was beginning to worry."

"Yeah, well—apparently, Pinocchio's a baseball fan. He wanted a picture."

Diane laughed. "Well, I don't suppose that ruined your appetite?"

"Hey…c'mon, I kinda miss that sort of thing."

Diane nodded. "Of course."

Sam frowned, looking at her. "You okay?"

Diane shrugged. "Oh, I'm fine. Why don't we eat?"

"Hey, you bet. I was wondering how their pizzas are…"

"Oh, _Sam_…" Diane sighed, with a smile, as they walked to the restaurant.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam stepped out of their bathroom, and found himself smirking at the sight of her typing away at the round table opposite the bed from him. She was in the same robe she was in when she'd finished her turn in the shower, a bit ago.

"Hey, you didn't get tired of waiting, did you?" Sam chuckled.

Diane smiled at him as he walked over, "Oh, no, I…only found myself—_struck_ with the need to put thought to pen, so to speak."

There was something tense about her—there had been, since they'd met up just before lunch. Something was bothering her a little, and she was probably looking for a distraction.

_Oh, come on, Sammy—you're great at _that_ kinda thing, right? C'mon…_

Sam sat down on the bed, facing her. "Want to talk about it?"

"Hmm?"

"Come on, honey—something's up. Are you okay?"

"What—oh, yes, of course, Sam! I'm fine. Why…?"

Sam sighed, and spread out his hands. "Never mind…" he said.

"No—Sam, I'm sorry. I'm only…a little preoccupied, right now. Hold on a moment…" she went back to typing, peering intently at the page. She paused for a moment, pursing her lips…and then resumed.

After a while, she leaned back and relaxed. "Well, that should be enough for tonight," she said, turning to Sam with a smile. She chuckled, shaking her head.

Sam smiled, "What?"

"Oh, as usual, Mr. Malone, you prefer to refrain from subtlety," she gestured to his towel, wrapped around him at the waist—he hadn't brought a change of clothes into the bathroom with him.

Sam shrugged, with a grin, "Hey…just trying to encourage a little imagination, huh?"

Diane rolled her eyes, and walked over to him, sitting in his lap and wrapping an arm around him. Sam could easily make out that the robe was all she had on.

"Well, then," she said, her voice low and soft, smiling with that teasing innocence of hers, "Far be it from me to delay an artist from his work…."

"Yeah, you said it…" Sam replied, as Diane's lips met his…slowly, intently. He could feel her free hand playing at the hairs of his chest, and then moving down, to the side, caressing him gently. Sam made sure to return the favor by working at the knot on the linen belt of Diane's robe…and then moving so that they both fell gently into the cushions of the mattress.

Neither of them bothered to turn off the light—they were too absorbed in the moment to notice it, or to care.

"You know something?" Sam smiled down at her, "I don't _think_ there's any salt in the air, but I'm sure feeling—"

"_Sam_!" Diane laughed.

"Hey, I think I kinda like Florida." After a beat, he added, "Don't tell Cliff—he'll never let us hear the end of it."

"Somehow, I doubt he'll refrain from reminders anyhow."

"Yeah, well…better make it worth it, don't you think?"

"Mm-_hmm_…!" Diane shifted a little underneath him, with a knowing smile.

Sam chuckled, and their lips met. That was all they said for a while—the scores were on the line, and the night's first inning had only begun.

There'd been times when Sam had been concerned about his "nature" as a hound—Carla had kept on it about him, when she'd begged him not to go to Europe after Diane. "I don't wanna _lose_ that guy!" she'd said. Truth be told, he'd been often afraid of losing him, too. But since he'd re-kindled with Diane, those fears never seemed to matter to him anymore.

Diane had once been pretty afraid of the opposite—fears _of_ his inability to shake his womanizing ways. But it was pretty darn clear—especially the past several months—that neither of them had anything to be worried about. Though there were certainly times when he found himself "looking"—or briefly falling prey to a flirty talk about "old times" with an old flame…still, ever since Diane had accepted his proposal, it had never been anything worse.

Of course, Sam would be the first to admit it wasn't him—it was all _her_…her being her. All those times, since their first relationship, he'd chased after women that in some way reminded him of _her_—though he hadn't admitted it to himself at the time—all of that, it was pretty much all proof of it. She was definitely the one woman in his life who could ever keep him satisfied—_more_ than satisfied, to be honest!—and always _did_. And the best part: he was proud to know she felt the same way about him, and his own skills at the plate. It was never a chore for her—she loved these nights every bit as much as he did.

He held her, caressing the slender curves of her body, feeling and absorbing through his hands the gentle softness of her skin. There was always something so deeply delicate about her—a fragility that flowed with the warm, playful innocence of her heart. But that fragility was only to a point—there was an inner "strength" in her, the kind of willpower that let her keep her dignity when most other girls that delicate would probably break down without any hope. Diane would be the warmest sweetheart to you, if you were good to her—and if you were bad to her, she wouldn't let you get away with it, not without at least making you feel more than a bit guilty in your gut. All those things put together made her all the more sexy to him—always did, always would.

_She's so perfect,_ he mused as they carried on, with all they were,_ Diane…if I could tell you how great you are—or how I couldn't ever figure out how I could ever deserve someone like you, but at the same time, something in me knows I _do_…oh, you know what, if I _tried_ telling, I'd probably sound like a bad impression of _you_ giving one of your little speeches. Well, you know—I've heard a heck of a lot that _showing's_ better than telling._

And show it, he did—giving her his all, _deep_ into the night. All barbs they'd thrown at each other, way-back-when, aside…they both always knew exactly how to make these nights something to remember.

At the plate: Sam "Mayday" Malone—one-man team. No strikes…and none coming. Time to hit it out of the park.

* * *

"You okay?"

Diane was staring at the ceiling, staring absently at the rotating wings of the fan. The grand session of magnificent passion was _finis_—she was reasonably sure they'd at _least_ come close to surpassing a previous endurance record of theirs (their first night of matrimony)…and she was now pleasantly drained, content to rest, awake.

Well…resting in silence allowed her mind to linger on the events of the day—and what she still hadn't told Sam.

"Hey…sweetheart?"

Diane blinked, and turned to him, "Hmm?"

Sam propped himself up on his side. "Are you okay?"

Diane chuckled, fluttering her eyelashes at him, "Sam, don't tell me that you're worried for my health."

"Hey…c'mon, that sure took quite a bit out of _me_—not that I'm complaining."

Diane grinned as she turned to lie on her side, facing him completely. "I don't suppose you're offering to continue?"

"Ask me that in a bit—even I gotta rehydrate, once in a while."

Diane chuckled again, and shrugged. "Understandable, I suppose."

"Yeah, you said it…" Sam pulled her close with his free arm, kissing her, fully.

"_Okay_," he said once he finished, "What's on your mind? Other than me, I mean."

Diane shrugged, "Well…I wouldn't want to distract us _too_ much from the moment."

"Oh, come on—now I'm curious, and I'm gonna _be_ curious until you tell me. So what's up?"

Diane felt her smile fade, as she mulled over it all, for a moment. Finally, she lay once again on her back, and sighed. "I…encountered someone today—at, well, miniature Italy. I was waiting for you…?"

"Right," Sam nodded. "So, someone you knew?"

Diane looked at him, "That's just it, Sam…I don't know."

Sam frowned, looking at her questioningly, saying nothing.

Diane stared at the fan. "He was a soccer player—Italian."

"Okay…so, you met him in Europe?"

"I may have, Sam. It was…after I—left poor Frasier, and…"

Sam put his hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, I get that. But…what do you mean, you don't know?"

Diane sighed, and looked at him again. "I mean…I can't be sure. I was frankly half-_drunk_ for most of that time…I barely remember much of the details."

Sam nodded. "But…?"

"_But_—there was something about him that I found…so familiar. And—Sam…" Diane felt her eyes moisten, "I'm quite certain he felt the same, about me."

Sam seemed to stiffen a little. "That…doesn't really mean anything. I mean…"

Diane swallowed, and said, "When we—introduced ourselves, he…remembered my name."

"Wha—he recognized you?"

"Oh, no, I doubt that. He only…well, he told me he knew someone named 'Diane' once, and…and I could tell, in his eyes, that he…"

She shook her head, feeling tears, "Oh, Sam—he's alone…and deep in his heart, he's hurt. I knew that look, Sam—I…" She swallowed, and went on, "It's rather like the look I often saw in the mirror, when I was with Frasier—whenever I'd find myself…remembering what you and I'd had. At the very least, I _reminded_ this man, Tony, of his own heart breaking, when he lost me…"

Sam looked off for a moment, and sighed as he turned to her, "Look, um…don't you think maybe you're assuming a bit too much? I mean—if you _were_ all on edge, back then, it's not like you'd be having some big romance with a guy—and if _he_ thought that's what it was, well…I don't _what_ that makes him."

"_Sam_…"

"Yeah, you're right—I do; I just didn't want to come out and say it, and get you upset. But that's what I think, Diane."

Diane looked off, thinking hard.

"Sweetheart…" Sam put his hand on her shoulder once again, "Even if you _did_ meet him before, and…if he did fall for you—and hey, who can blame him, huh?—"

Diane felt a smile.

"—well, even then, so what? He'll find someone, and get over you—heck, Frasier did!"

Diane sighed, still looking off. "I suppose, Sam…. Much as I hate to _admit_ it, you're probably right."

"Hey—c'mon; in this case, would you _want_ to be right?"

Diane turned to him, smile. "No…I guess not."

"There ya go. Now, how about that new inning?"

Diane chuckled. "Sam, you're insatiable."

"Hey…don't tell me you _can't_ go on."

"Oh, I could. But like you, Sam, I feel the need to refresh myself. So, if you'll kindly excuse me…" She pushed back the covers, taking her robe, putting it on and securing it tight. And she went right to the bathroom, tossing him a smile on the way…her unspeaking, but absolutely clear promise that no…the night was _not_ over, yet.


	5. Chapter 5

Two days later, they returned to the Italy pavilion. It was midday…but Antonio Vespucci was nowhere to be found.

Diane stood at the fountain, looking out, peering at all the passers-by. Nowhere….

Beside her, Sam spread out his hands, "I still don't know what we're doing here, you know."

Diane said nothing, taking a few steps forward, and studies all she could see around her, as hard as she could. Nothing. At times, she thought she would catch a glimpse of the man—but it never stood the test of scrutiny.

She felt Sam's hand on her shoulder, "You okay?" he asked.

Diane swallowed, and shook her head. "He's not here."

"Hey, it's not like you agreed to meet here—or did you?"

"No…" Diane sighed, "But—when he said it…he sounded as if he'd wanted to see me again—why else would he make it a point to…_inform_ me of his routine? After all—"

"Sweetheart, don't beat yourself up, okay? Maybe he's late—it's been known to happen."

Diane turned to him, blinking back her tears.

"Aw, come on…" Sam put an arm around her, and gently wiped away what escaped her eyes with his thumb, "Honey…it happens."

Diane nodded, and looked off, "Sam…I'd like to remain here, for a while."

Sam nodded, "Okay…" he said. "I'll, uh—see if I can't find something in that shop over there…."

Diane nodded again, smiling at him. Sam lingered for a moment, meeting her gaze…and he left.

Diane walked back to the fountain, sitting on the ledge. She waited for what felt like an eternity.

Antonio didn't come. Sam returned every so often, to see how she was faring, and then left to continue walking around. Finally, Diane rose to her feet, and walked to Sam the moment she saw him.

"He's not coming," she quietly said, staring at the pavement.

Sam shook his head, "Sweetheart, I—"

Diane looked at him, again blinking back the moistening of her eyes. "We'd better go somewhere, Sam. I don't care—anything to…"

Sam nodded, "Well the, uh…America part, right over there, it's got a show, or something—"

"Yes, I think that'll do."

They walked the short distance to The American Adventure…Diane willing her hurt suppressed, with all the resolve she could muster, at the moment. For now, it would have to do.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam always hated to see Diane shut down, emotionally. Even when she was angry—heck, even when she was _crying_, which always came darn close to breaking his heart…even that was better than seeing her with her feelings all drained. It always meant she didn't think she was able to handle what she felt—that it might break her down, with no hope to fight on. And it often meant a worse outburst, later on.

As they walked back into their room, Sam kept his eye on her. Diane walked over to the round table without a word, taking her seat at the typewriter. She didn't write…she just sat there, staring at the page in the machine, with her hands in her lap.

Sam didn't like the look of it—to him, it looked far too much like how she'd reacted when, not too long before they'd gotten engaged, she'd discovered that the letter that poetry magazine had sent to her was just a form letter.

_"I've struggled…so hard, for so long, to keep my dreams alive…and I haven't fooled anyone, but myself."_

Sam sat down on the bed, close to her. "Diane…look, I never thought I'd say this to _you_, but…I think we should talk about—well, what happened."

Diane swallowed, but kept her gaze on the page.

"Hey…c'mon, I'm not gonna let up until we do, okay?"

Finally, Diane sighed, and leaned back, shaking her head. "Sam," she said, in a low voice, "What is it about me?"

Sam frowned, "What do you mean?"

Diane looked at him, "I…I can't help but think about—well, for one, about Frasier."

Sam straightened up, "What about him?"

"Well, I—Sam, to this day, I'm still not convinced he's fully recovered from…what I did to him. He's about to be married—quite happily, from what I can see, but…there's so often the feeling, the _sense_ that a part of him…"

She swallowed, and didn't go on.

Sam shrugged, "He seems pretty fine to me."

"I'm sure he does. But believe me, Sam—I can see it. After all the time I'd spent with him—"

"Look, um…I think I kinda know where this is going. Sweetheart…unless you were gonna marry this 'Tony' guy, too, I _don't_ think it's anywhere close, okay?"

Diane stiffened. "Sam, it isn't that simple. If…if I broke his heart—"

"Honey, people's hearts get broken all the time—and they get over it."

"But _Sam_…" She pursed her lips…and her eyes welled up, "What if he hasn't?"

Sam let out a sigh, "Diane, we've been over this. If he thought there was more to it than there was—that's his problem. It's not your fault—"

"But what if it _is_? _Sam_—I can barely remember so many of the things I did, in that time in my life—what if I made a promise to him? What if I told him I loved him? What if—?"

"Hey, if you were half drunk, he'd have been an idiot not to notice. And that's what you're making him out to be, okay? An idiot."

Diane stared at him, eyes wide and severe. "What…are you saying?"

"Hey, I'm being nice, here!—if I weren't, I'd accuse him of looking at you, seeing you were desperate, and—"

"Sam, that's _enough_!"

Sam paused for a moment, and said, "I'm just saying you can't be so hard on yourself—it was just a _fling_! _That's_ all—and if he's making it out to be more, that doesn't mean _you_ should."

Diane stared at him in silence. Finally, she shook her head, looking off, and muttered, "I should have known."

Sam stiffened, "Diane—?"

"Of course, I'm sure this sort of thing has happened to _you_, so many times—"

"Now, wait a minute—you're not gonna put this on—"

"_Don't_," Diane stood. "Not another word. I shouldn't have expected _you_ to understand…."

Sam sighed, deflated, as he turned after her as she walked past the bed, "Sweetheart—"

"I need to be alone, Sam!" she called back, as she opened the door of the bathroom, walking in.

"What—" Sam shot to his feet, "Diane—"

Diane yanked the door shut, and Sam heard the lock click.

Sam shook his head, chuckling despite himself. _Here we go again_….

He was able to gather himself as he walked over, "Hey, uh, sweetheart?"

"Sam, I want to be _alone_!"

"Well, sure, but…look, I'm gonna _need_ to go in there pretty soon, and, well—"

"I'm _reasonably_ sure there are restrooms in the lobby!"

Sam sighed, spreading out his hands, "Fine…you know where to find me, when you need me."

"The phrase is '_if_ you need me', Sam."

Sam smirked, "You heard me. Well, I'll be back in about an hour, okay?"

"I'll be _fine_, Sam! I just want—to be—_alone_."

"Whatever you say, Greta Garbo…." Sam made sure he still had his key, and headed out, checking his watch as he walked to the nearest elevator.

_Well, she's a _little_ better, anyway—letting it out. How's that for a session, Frasier?_


	7. Chapter 7

When he came back, the lights were only on in the bathroom—and the door to it was probably unlocked, considering how it was only half shut.

"Diane?" Sam closed the main door behind him. "Sweetheart, I'm back…!"

Nothing. Sam waited for a moment…and was sure he heard a sniffle.

Sam walked into the bathroom. There she was, sitting on the floor in front of the tub—clearly having washed and changed into a white linen nightdress. She had her knees brought close to her chest, and was staring off at nothing.

Sam walked over to her, sitting down on the floor, putting his arm around her. "Hey, uh…" he said in a near whisper, "I'm sorry about—"

"No…" Diane shook her head, "_I'm_ sorry, Sam—I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that."

"Oh, come on— I can't blame you. It was unfair of me. I'm…sure he's a good guy."

Diane shrugged, "Well, um…I was—thinking of what else you said. And…I suppose you're right—I _have_ been taking this entire situation more personally than I should have."

Sam shrugged, "You know, if he _is_ stuck on you, I can't really blame _him_, either. There's a song or something—one-hit wonder, I think: 'If you've met her, then you'll never forget her—and nobody knows like me'."

Diane sighed, and muttered, "Well, that isn't necessarily a good thing, from 'her' perspective."

"Maybe not. All I know is, if it were _me_—"

Diane chuckled, "If it were _you_ having to deal with being so unforgettable, I'd imagine you'd find it flattering."

"Hey, I'm kinda flattered, as it is," Sam grinned. "Knowing a bunch of guys might be jealous, me having _you_ for a wife…"

Diane scoffed, and shook her head with a smile, "Oh, Sam…."

"Yeah, that's better," Sam leaned to her, "Keep smiling for me; what do you say?"

Diane looked off, with a sigh, "I would, except…"

"Oh, I should've known it wouldn't be that easy—"

"_Sam_…this is serious."

"Right. You're still worried about that soccer player. You know…if you ever _do_ happen to meet up with him again, why don't you just tell him?"

"Oh, tell him _what_—that I fell for him under false pretenses? That I was desperately seeking a distraction from the pain in my heart, and I was only using him to feel better about myself?"

Sam frowned, and nodded, "Yeah, good point—I'd sure never use _that_ one…."

Diane sighed, and stood, pacing the bathroom floor with tears in her voice, "Sam…I don't know what to _do_!"

Sam stayed on the floor, resting an arm on the tub, "You know—I don't want to sound more insensitive, but—if you never see him again, what'll you do?"

Diane sighed, and turned to him, "Well, I…I suppose I'll have to accept it—leave the past in the past, and move on with my life." She shrugged, and added, "I'll doubtless shed tears over it, but…"

"Well, in that case, _here's_ an easy answer: for the rest of our visit, we'll go everywhere in these parks _except_ there—you won't have a reason to think of him, and what are the odds you'll just _happen_ to bump into him?…again…." Sam looked off, "I'm not helping at all, am I?"

"No, you're right, Sam," Diane sat back down beside him, "In fact, I'm starting to wonder if this isn't about whether he's recovered, at all…and if, in fact—it's more a matter of whether _I've_ recovered."

Sam frowned at her, "Should I be a little worried about what you said, just now—?"

"_No_!" Diane shook her head, with a warm smile, "Sam, of _course_ not—I'm yours, and I always will be…and I'm proud of that."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, good to know…just now, I was wondering how I'd have to step up my game, to help you get over it."

Diane chuckled, and leaned to him, "Sam, I can assure you…that man was _not_ a viable competitor." After a moment, she shrugged, "Drunk or not, I'm reasonably sure I would've remembered, otherwise."

Sam smiled, "So, what's the recovery from?"

"Only…all the things I did, during those months—all the things I put myself through…all the things I put all those _men_ through—not only Frasier, or Antonio, but…who knows how many others."

"That Jack character?"

Diane stiffened, straightening up, "That…was purely _my_ suffering. And unfortunately for me, that gorilla's antics often shocked me into sobriety! If you knew all the degrading things his…_crowd_ led me into doing—"

"Hey come on, they didn't have you dance on a table or anything, did they?"

Diane froze, staring at him.

_Oh, great. _Sam frowned, looking at her in what he hoped passed for complete innocence, "What?"

To be honest, he wasn't sure what he could've possibly been thinking, blurting that out like he did. He hadn't really been sure if that story was true—and if it was, if Diane remembered it. It _certainly_ wasn't the kind of thing she'd let herself do, _sober_…was it?

Apparently, there was more to it than he'd thought. Diane stood up and closed her eyes, clearly mentally counting to ten.

"Hey—sweetheart—"

"_Who_…told you?"

"I, uh—heard about it—"

Diane opened her eyes. "From _whom_?"

Sam stood up, and said, "Look—give me some credit: when Frasier showed up and told me you didn't marry, I looked you up—I was worried, remember?"

"So, it was _Frasier_, was it?"

Sam scoffed, "Come on—"

"Well, I sincerely doubt the _sisters_ would've told you!"

"All right—look—"

"Frasier…!" Diane muttered, looking off. She shook her head, "My word—as though all the things he said to _me_ weren't bad enough—he had to _study_ me from afar and tell _you_!"

"Hey, it's not like he was around to witness!"

"_No_…" Diane sighed, spreading out her hands, "It's just—believe me, Sam, it was the most humiliating period in my life, and to this day, I can never truly understand why I did what I did."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time you went a little…y'know—"

"But that was different!—at Goldenbrook, I was among capable hands…and whatever bouts of insanity I'd faced were quickly reined in. In Europe…I was alone—seeking what solace I could in…danger and thrill and _excitement_. I was…wild, and—untamed, and…"

Sam couldn't help himself, "Go on—please…"

Diane sighed, giving him a Look. "_Sam_—it was decidedly _not_ a period in my life I was any proud of." She blinked, and looked off, muttering, "Heaven forgive me, I just dangled a preposition."

Sam shrugged, "Well, I wouldn't ever want to see you go off the rails, like that—you're too good for tabletops, anyway…or that 'semi-private beach'—"

"Sam, please—"

"What I'm saying is…all that being said, there's nothing wrong with showing your 'wild side', once in a while."

"Oh, well, I'm certain _you _would know—you weren't 'tamed' at all until _I_ came along!"

Sam grinned, "Hey, there's more than one way of being 'untamed', you know—I just save it for the right moments…."

Diane chuckled, "Well, um…what were we discussing?"

"What you were trying to get over."

"Right. Well—the point is, heaven knows how many men had gained the wrong impression, during that time—"

Sam sighed, "Diane, if you were that crazy, those guys _probably_ weren't looking for commitment. They were looking for wild times and wilder _sex_. They had no respect for you, any more than you did. And they _sure_ as heck didn't love you."

Diane nodded, looking off. "And Antonio—?"

"Hey, who knows? Maybe next time you're at that fountain, you can ask him."

Diane turned to him, her eyes welling up.

"Oh—" Sam shook his head, "Diane, I—I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"No," Diane shook her head, and whispered, "Sam, hold me…."

He did, and she cried onto his shoulder, holding nothing back.

Sam held her, supporting her. He always hated it when she cried…when she was hurt, in some way. But moments like this—moments when he could be there for her…it made him feel good inside, despite himself. He felt so protective of her, in moments like this. And whenever he followed through—keeping her close, protecting her from the world…well, it really did make him feel every bit "like a man"—being there for the woman in his life.

Diane had once told him how, the night he first hired her (after that stupid Sumner Sloane threw her away, like the scum he was), Sam had, in a sense…saved her life—how there were times when she could see him as a hero, for her. A "rogue knight" (yeah…good thing she didn't talk about "shining armor"—he was a ball player, and "shining" things are bad for the eyes)…rescuing the beautiful princess, keeping her safe.

_Well, I don't know if I'm a "hero" or not, Diane…but I can sure try, like right now._

"It's okay," he whispered, "I'm here, sweetheart…I'm here."

When all her tears were shed, Diane looked up at him, blinking, smiling. "Thank you, Sam," she whispered.

Sam beamed, "Any time, princess."

Diane's smile grew, "That's new…."

"Hey, it was your idea—remember?"

Diane shrugged a little, "Well, I remember speaking metaphorically, but…"

"Well, it's for the honeymoon—it's Disney, after all."

"I suppose so…." Diane leaned to him, beaming. "Call me that again?"

Sam shrugged, "Call you what, princess?" And he chuckled.

Diane returned the laugh, and her eyelids lowered a little as she said, "I like it, Sam. I like it a lot…."

Sam nodded, "Now, enough talking for now, okay?"

"For now, _mon coer_…."

And they kissed…and no more words were needed, for the night.

* * *

**Note: The reference to the table-dance's connection to Jack is a bit of a nod to samuraifrasiercrane's tale of that period, "Where The Thunder Goes".**

**Final chapter coming up!**


	8. Chapter 8

Diane returned to the Italy pavilion, alone. She sat down on the ledge of the fountain once again, waiting silently in the midday sun. She had a celery stalk in her hand, and nibbled at it, without a word.

She was halfway through when she saw him, strolling silently through the plaza. Diane straightened up, and waved. After a moment, Antonio saw her, and walked over, with a small smile that seemed a little nervous.

Diane rose to her feet, with a smile. "Hello, again!"

The man nodded, still nervous. "Hello."

Diane shrugged, and said, "When you, um…didn't arrive, before, I'd gotten a little worried."

_"A little" indeed!_ Still, no need to tell him of the pain she'd underwent.

The man frowned, "Well, I…I wasn't quite expecting—"

Diane laughed, "Oh, no…it's my own fault. I don't know _why_ I'd have expected a literal 'every other day'."

"Well, er—I wouldn't know why I would have expected to schedule a regular meeting with…"

"Someone you don't even know?"

He nodded. "I—I'm very sorry, if I caused you to think otherwise…."

Diane shrugged, "Well, I suppose one might call it a quirk of mine…as a rule, when I—well, when I see someone who…"

Her voice trailed off, as they shared a gaze. And not for the first time, Diane wondered if a part of this man _knew_…if it recognized her—if _that_ had been why he had mentioned, albeit as an aside, his normal routine.

_And yet he violated that routine—it _couldn't_ have been that!_

_Or…could it? Is it possible that—that part of him, which felt that he knew me…could it have frightened him away? Or…am I just over-analyzing it all, as I so often do? For all I know, he honestly didn't expect me to hold him to this "routine"…and didn't feel the need to maintain it._

Tony shrugged, "Who…?"

Diane paused for a moment longer, and sighed. _I've put this off for far too long._

"Tony," she said, "Perhaps I was reading too much into things, but I…I couldn't help but notice how—well, when you mentioned the 'Diane' in your life, you seemed…it seemed as though something were hurting, within you. You seemed…"

"Alone?" Tony smiled, "Well…perhaps. It's crazy, I know—to be honest, the woman was…"

Diane flinched, "Uncommitted?"

"I was going to say 'wild', but—that, too."

Diane tried to chuckle, but looked off, gathering her composure, "Well, um…" she turned to him, "Wild, you say?"

"Yeah, that she was…but still—" Tony chuckled, shaking his head, "Look at me, telling it to a stranger…"

Diane's gaze fell, and she swallowed and said, "It's all right, Tony. I…I understand—"

The man spread out his hands, "It was barely for a _week_. I saw her in a tavern, after a game…she was drunk, and not _only_ with drink."

Diane frowned, "I don't follow…."

"She'd been crying…crying until her eyes were dry, if that's possible." He sighed, "I sat down, and we talked…she didn't tell me much, only her name. She didn't say where she was from—I could tell she was American, but that was all—and when I asked where she was going…she looked at me, and didn't answer."

Diane looked off, not letting him see the tears threatening to well up in her eyes.

Tony went on, "As I said, it wasn't for more than a few days, before she said she had to leave me. But I never blamed her."

Managing to blink back her tears, Diane turned to him, "You—don't?"

"No…when I first saw her, see was alone…and that never changed. She was in pain—crushed, looking for some way to escape whatever happened to her. Something was missing, in her heart, but …" he sighed, "I knew _I_ couldn't have helped her."

"But…you wanted to?"

Tony shrugged, "I suppose I did…but I soon found out that wasn't all she needed."

Diane swallowed. "What…_did_ she need?"

Tony paused for a moment…and finally replied, "I don't know how to say it—it wasn't just 'a home' or 'a place to belong'. It wasn't just 'love'. She—" he hesitated once more, and said, "It seemed to me as if she wanted to _live_…and wasn't sure how to, anymore."

For a while, Diane said nothing—she didn't trust herself not to say something like, _I know, Tony…you're right: I wasn't sure. I was so sure Sam had given me up—I didn't know whether he loved me or not…and when I thought he wouldn't do anything to pledge his love, I didn't know what to do. I threw myself into my wedding with Frasier—and at the altar, I realized how deeply I was hurting all three of us. I panicked—I ran…and I didn't know what to do. I wandered, unsure of whether I could love again…whether I could live again._

She didn't say it—but would it be all right, to? Right now, right here, she _knew_ that this man wasn't harboring a broken heart. The sadness Antonio felt was _for_ the woman he met in that tavern—not _over_ her. Would it be best for her to say—?

The man sighed, and said, "Well, I wish she found what she was looking for…what she needed. She deserved that, at least."

Diane felt her hand move, resting on his shoulder. Antonio looked at her, in mild bewilderment.

Diane smiled warmly, "Don't worry…. I'm certain she did."

It was all she could say to him. She knew, full well, it had to end _here_…and if she told him everything, it could have made closure much more difficult.

Antonio paused for a moment longer, meeting her gaze. Finally, he smiled a little, and nodded.

Diane moved her hand off, holding it out to him, "Well, then—farewell, Antonio. I wish all the best for you, in the future."

He took her hand, shaking it once, "Likewise, Mrs.…"

"Malone."

He nodded, "Mrs. Malone. May I say, I envy your husband—he's a very lucky man."

Diane's smile grew, "Thank you. I'd say I'm very fortunate, myself."

Antonio nodded again, and began to walk off. But he paused, and turned to her again. "Diane?"

"Yes?"

A pause, and then, "Thank you."

Diane nodded, "Thank _you_, Antonio."

The man turned, and walked away, disappearing into a crowd. And that was that.

* * *

Diane entered the suite, and waked over to the bed. Sam was sitting there, leaning back against the headboard. He had a manuscript page in his hand—and there were many others. There was a small stack in his lap—and a bigger one on the table nearby.

"Sam…?"

Sam blinked, saw her, and straightened out, "Oh—Diane! I, uh—look, honey, this isn't how it…" He deflated, "Oh, never mind…"

Diane chuckled, "Oh, it's all right. I said I wanted you to read it."

"Yeah, I just didn't know you meant before it was done."

"Then what's all this?"

Sam shrugged, "There wasn't much on, so I figured, what the heck? It'll pass the time, until you're back."

Diane nodded, taking note of the fact that Sam was almost done reading what she'd written so far. She sat down on the edge, smiling at him. "What do you think?"

"You know, I was a little afraid it was going to be kinda…well, you know—"

"Wordy?"

"Well, uh…geez, I dunno—"

Diane chuckled, "Oh, it's all right, Sam—my agent said the same thing of my earlier drafts. Well—drafts of what I'd _written_, anyway…."

Sam nodded, looking at the page he held for a moment. Finally, he put it face-down on the bigger stack.

"Well…?" Diane's smile grew.

Sam returned the smile, "I'll put it this way: I barely know what time it is."

Diane laughed, as she moved beside him. "You like it?"

"Well, look, I'm not really sure my liking it's what you want, if you want to win awards, or something—"

Diane shook her head, "Oh, Sam…sometimes, I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

"Okay, then I like it." Sam smirked at her, "You know, I kinda like this guy that's helping her out, the…"

Diane's smile grew, as she rested her head on his shoulder, "Remind you of anyone?"

Sam blinked, and frowned, "Hey, I thought you said you wrote a big part of it five years ago…"

"I know: I revised it a bit. I thought she could use a friend, through all that…someone to be there, for her…so she won't have to face these things, alone."

"That agent guy, does he know you did this?"

"Oh, I told him—and he likes the idea. 'The more interaction between characters, the better,' he said. It's a more…vivid means by which to dramatize the conflicts."

"Well, she's sure gonna need the help, from what I've read."

Diane nodded, looking off.

"So, uh…how did it go? Was he there?"

Diane nodded as she turned back to him, "He was."

"And…?"

"Well, um…" Diane shrugged, "Sam, I suppose I'll have to confess, heaven forgive me, that you were right."

"Yeah, that's pretty hard to do, don't you think?" Sam replied in all innocence.

Diane sighed, but smiled and went on, "At any rate, I suppose I did overreact in my…assumption that Antonio was yet another 'victim' of a heart broken after my involvement in his life. He wasn't sad for himself. He was…he was sad for _me_. Well—who I _was_, when he knew me."

"What do you mean?"

Diane shook her head, looking off in wonder, "Well…I don't know if I can explain it, for anyone other than myself. Just that—things are as they should be…for him and for myself."

"So, it's…all okay, with him?"

Diane smirked at him, "I believe I just said that, Sam."

"Uh-huh…" Sam muttered, as he picked up the next page of the manuscript. After a moment, he turned to her, and said, "You know, back on _this_…I still don't have a clue what—"

"_Sam_…" Diane pressed her forefinger against Sam's lips, with a smile, "I haven't written that part, yet."

She lifted her finger. Sam grinned, "But you _know_ the answers, right?"

"Why, of _course_ I do!" Diane chuckled…and beamed, "To quote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, when asked whether he knew the ending of a Holmes story before he started it, 'One could not possibly steer a course if one did not know one's destination.'"

"Uh-huh," Sam took the pages still in his lap, and set them aside on the table, with the one he'd been holding. "So…?"

"I'm not telling, Sam: you'll have to wait."

"Yeah—so what was all that stuff you told me about the story being _dark_ or something…?"

"Well, it should be, all in good time. But for what it's worth, Sam, it was a tad more 'dark' when she was alone. I imagine his presence there will provide an element of hope, when all is revealed."

"Hey, how so?"

"Sam," Diane shook her head, "I'm not telling."

Sam put his arm around her, "C'mon, just a little…?"

"_No_."

Sam grinned, brought her to him, and kissed her—slowly, intently….

Diane closed her eyes, taking in the feeling of his mouth on her skin, "Sam, I—_Sam_, don't think this will…will soften me—well, not in _that_ way, not to…tell you what—"

"Hey," Sam stopped, grinning at her, "C'mon…that's not what it's about."

"Oh _really_, Sam, I…"

Diane felt Sam's lips on her own…and that was the end of her resistance for the night. He didn't ask her anything more about the book—to his credit—but he was right: it wasn't about that. Tonight, all was well, for both of them…and no regrets of the past could change that. Tonight, all was nothing less than the highest levels of passion and ecstasy, pleasure and excitement. No longer would there be any distractions from what this honeymoon had been intended to be—at last, their time here would be _theirs_, and only theirs…and neither of them would allow it to be any other way.

When it all had finally cooled (for the moment, at least)…she lay in his arms, eyes closed and with a smile filling her face and her heart…at peace and content with the world.


End file.
